Pieces
by IAmThePoisonedYouth
Summary: 'Time of death, 2:43 AM.' 'I'm so sorry, Stiles. Your father is gone.' The words that he had never wanted to hear were seared into the teenager's mind as he curled up on his bed, contemplating the past couple of horror-filled months of his life. It had all started when he returned to town. The monster going by the alias of Theo Raeken.


' _Time of death, 2:43 AM.'_

' _I'm so sorry, Stiles. Your father is gone.'_

The words that he had never wanted to hear were seared into the teenager's mind as he curled up on his bed, contemplating the past couple of horror-filled months of his life. It had all started when _he_ returned to town. The monster going by the alias of Theo Raeken.

Stiles didn't ever think he could be capable of so much hatred, but all he wanted now was to put his fingers around Theo's neck and squeeze until the oxygen ran away, and it frightened him. Of course, it was natural to be angry after losing the only person he had left in his life, but not to this extent. Not to the point that if even a tiny ghost of a thought of Theo entered his mind, he had to bite his nails into his palms to stop himself from getting a knife.

Then again, his father hadn't just died. He had been murdered, a mere distraction whilst the monster went to kill his best friend, and even then, succeeded for a few, painful minutes that added to the guilt weighing down Stiles' heart.

He had received the phone call off of Mason, another tag along in his clique, whilst he waited, heart racing in his chest as his father was failing to be saved. Hayden, the girlfriend of his frenemy Liam, had died in his young, fragile, sixteen year old arms, and it hurt.

 _God, it hurt._

He wanted Theo dead, he physically craved it, but knew there was nothing he could do, as per usual. He was the stupid human, the one who had barely enough strength to get out of bed anymore, the emotional ache and even the physical one in his shoulder, a memoir of his murder of Donovan Donati, way too much to bear.

Donovan's face as he stared up at him, choking up silver and red still haunted him, brought him out of sleep in fits of frenzied screaming for help before he realised he was living on his own now.

Nobody had even thought to move him out of the house, they hadn't visited, they hadn't even asked if he was alright. The last time he had seen any of them, it was at his father's funeral, the funeral he had only stayed at for a quick few minutes before everything became too much and he had to leave.

He hadn't returned to school, he couldn't face it, the staring faces, the stupid questions, the fear, the anxiety, the dread in his heart repeating 'nonono' because everything was _wrong._

And none of that was even the worse of things. The worst thing was having to repeat the night where his best friend gave up on him. The night where, through Theo's manipulations, Scott had turned his back on him. That hurt worse than any of the pain he had went through in his short life.

For someone who was barely eighteen, Stiles sometimes felt like he was in his fifties with the horrors he had seen.

Scott had rang his phone once a week previous, just to try and tell him that they had rescued Lydia from Eichen House, where Theo had dragged her to, but Stiles closed himself off more and more, letting it go straight to voicemail.

Everything was dimmed with pain. Stiles could barely even cry anymore, he was too weak to. He was too weak to contemplate ending it, because he knew he deserved the pain.

It was like the aftermath of the Nogitsune, only so much worse. For a few weeks after the fox trickster had left his body, he had felt wrong… incomplete… empty as well as immensely guilty for letting it kill Allison, Scott's first love, and getting Aiden, one of the Alpha twins, also killed. The Nogitsune had hollowed out his soul, and now he was just a shell.

He wanted to be the sarcastic if not ditzy sixteen year old who would always lighten the mood again, but that version of him was dead. He had died when the emissary Deaton had told Lydia to hold him underwater until he wasn't breathing to save his dad. The boy who had awoken after that, he didn't even recognise.

' _Your father is gone.'_

He relived the moment again, shuffling so he faced the window, looking out to see the full moon, thinking about how the moon looked whole, when he, ironically, wasn't.

He was nothing but an orphan now.

His mother's slanted, broken smile barged into his thoughts and he remembered her death, how she hadn't been brave, she had been weeping, sobbing for breath, tears rolling down her cheeks as she told him like a sergeant would a soldier to 'look after his father, look after him'. He had been eight years old and she had left him.

And he was suffering through it again, but this time, it was different. He had gotten to say some form of goodbye to his mom, he had months to say it, but his dad? He couldn't even remember his last conversation with him.

The moon shone into his room, and he felt his eyes burn from rubbing them so much from crying. He always felt on the edge of breaking down, on the edge of the worst panic attack he would ever have, and he kept having to curl up into a ball to avoid it, hiding himself from the sheer terror of the world.

His eyes shut for a quick second, then the sound of a motorcycle roaring down the road until it stopped outside his house hit his ears, and horror filled him.

"No, no, no…" he muttered under his breath, feeling his breathing catch in his throat, pulse quickening.

His front door opened, and he could practically sense who it was as footsteps padded around the bottom floor of the house, then began to ascend the stairs.

Stiles whimpered, drawing his knees up to his chest, a constant plea of 'goawaygoawaygoaway' repeating in his scattered mind, and when the door creaked open, he had to hold back a sob.

"Hey…" Scott's voice was gentle, and he could see the utter terror on Stiles.

Stiles' head rose slightly, and he said the three words he would never say to _him,_ "Leave me alone."

"Stiles-"

He looked devastated, as he swallowed, "Please."

"I'm not leaving you." Scott said, peeling away his leather jacket from wet skin - Stiles hadn't even noticed it had been raining.

' _It was raining the night he walked away from you.'_ his thoughts cruelly reminded, ' _He's your best friend, your everything, and he trusted Theo.'_

Stiles' breathing issue escalated, "I-I'm telling you, leave. This is my house, I don't want you here."

"You really don't?" Scott gave a puppy-like look of hurt, and Stiles' heart shattered, "Fine…" he sighed, "I'll go."

When he turned, Stiles stopped him, "Wait." he said, then paused until Scott turned around before continuing, "Scotty… I… I'm sorry… I'm just… I'm not doing too good." tears welled in his eyes, "Everything's just really horrible and my dad's dead and I just don't know what to do."

"Hey… it's okay." Scott sat on the bed, "I'm here now, and I know the past couple of weeks I've been a crappy friend but-"

Stiles interjected, "You _died,_ Scott. You had a pretty good reason to take some time off."

"I trusted Theo over you." Scott took off his socks and shoes and laid beside Stiles, "A- a stranger over my best friend. I managed to get the real story out of him today."

Stiles asked, "What happened today?"

"I kicked his ass." Scott replied, "I don't think he'll be a problem for a while. He resurrected the chimeras and we had to call Argent, he put a few of them down, including Donovan."

Stiles sniffled, "How… How are the others?"

"They're okay, considering. Lydia's adjusting, she's had more banshee powers awoken, Liam has Hayden back, she left the pack." he inhaled, "Malia's okay. She told me that she texted to call things off until ."

Stiles couldn't remember the text through the grief fogging his mind so he just nodded in reply.

"And Kira?" he asked.

Scott huffed, "Haven't heard from her. She and I… we're at a point where I'm not sure our relationship can survive this."

"You've been through worse." Stiles said, unconsciously referring to Allison's demise.

Scott's hand gripped his forearm softly as he murmured, " _You_ haven't. I'm so sorry, Stiles."

He wasn't sure if it was the way Scott said it or the brutal truth of those words, but Stiles was unable to hold back his sobs any longer. Something in him had broken, and he soon found himself weeping, one hand grasping Scott's shoulder like a lifeline, his face buried into his friend's chest.

Scott did all he could to comfort Stiles, his other arm coming around to hold him protectively against his side. He didn't deserve this. Stiles didn't deserve to have this amount of misery forced onto him, he was a good person.

He was everything.

When Stiles' eyes had dried, Scott waited a few minutes before speaking, "Do you want to stay at mine?"

"What?" Stiles' voice was cracked.

He repeated his question, "Do you wanna stay at mine?"

"I don't want to be a burden." Stiles mumbled, twisting his fingers into Scott's shirt, their legs tangling.

Scott sighed, "Let me rephrase. You're staying at mine tonight and for however long you want because I am not leaving you alone in this house."

"Are you sure?" Stiles' voice was small as he asked.

Scott nodded, "You're my best friend, I gotta help you."

"Okay." Stiles looked up at him, "But you came over on your bike."

Scott's hand sought his, "I'll call mom, ask us to pick us up. Come on, I'll let you make me watch Star Wars."

"You don't have to do this." Stiles sat up, "I fucked up, I killed Donovan, I broke our code-"

Scott's hand cupped his cheek, and Stiles felt himself lean into the strangely comforting touch, "You had to, it was self defense. I know that now."

"Thank you." Stiles wrapped his arms around Scott's neck, pulling him forward into a hug, burying his face into his neck, "Thank you for everything."

Scott waited until the hug ended before saying, "You're my best friend, and if I lost you, God, I don't know what I would do."

"Thanks, but if you're trying to ask me out…" Stiles began to laugh, and it felt genuinely good.

Scott smiled at that, "I almost forgot what your laugh sounds like, it's been so long since I've heard it. Right, let's get ready."

Stiles nodded, and began to pack a bag, finally seeing a glimmer of light in his future. And that glimmer of light was Scott McCall, and everything about him, his smile, his voice, his eyes.

And Stiles recognised that he was beginning to get pieces of his old self back together, like a jigsaw puzzle. He just had to find the other pieces.


End file.
